


Locked Away

by Jazzfanatic



Category: Supernatural, The Shining (1980), The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Haunting, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Subtext, art included, spncasefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzfanatic/pseuds/Jazzfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the world of <em>Supernatural</em>, Sam and Dean Winchester’s latest case takes them to the Overlook Hotel, the setting of Stephen King's <em>The Shining</em>.</p>
<p>Thanks to <a href="http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/143840193988/locked-away-by-jazzfanatic-what-we-will-become">kuwlshadow</a> for the beautiful artwork and to <a href="http://catharoo.tumblr.com/">catharoo</a> for the beta read!</p>
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	1. The Case

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding ratings and warnings and such, I tend to err on the side of caution. To me, this reads more like a teen-level fic, but others would probably argue for mature. Nothing worse than what's been seen or explored in either the Supernatural world or any incarnation of The Shining. Do with that information what you will.

It was the middle of the morning in the bunker as Dean dragged himself out of bed. There was coffee in the kitchen, and he gratefully poured himself a cup before heading into the library. There he found Sam in his usual spot--tapping away at his laptop and making notes in his journal, with various folders and papers scattered across the large table.

Sam looked up briefly as Dean approached. “Hey. ‘Bout time you got up.”

Dean dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. So I overslept for once. Sue me.”

Sam eyed Dean carefully. “Honestly, I’m just thankful you’re sleeping at all. You feeling okay?”

There was a pause as Dean gave the question some consideration. Then he shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Yeah. Fine. As fine as ever, anyway.”

“Feel like taking on a new case?”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking. What’cha got?”

Sam turned the laptop toward Dean, who took a seat beside him at the table. “Missing family in a swanky hotel in Colorado.”

“Swanky hotel, huh?” Dean grinned enthusiastically. “I like it so far. What’s so mysterious?”

“Apparently, the husband was the hotel caretaker, and he was living there over the winter with his family. Keeping the water pipes from freezing, stoking the boiler, that sort of thing.” Dean glanced over the newspaper article on Sam’s laptop as Sam continued. “So the hotel’s about to reopen for the season, and the regular staff starts showing up to get back to work. Only there’s no sign of the caretaker or his family.”

“Think they just abandoned the place?" Dean wondered.

“If they did, it would have to have been recently,” Sam replied. "The building’s in perfect shape, like it was being cared for right up until the day the rest of the staff showed up. And the family’s belongings were still in the suite they were staying in. It’s almost like they all got up and went for a walk, and just didn’t come back.”

“Okay,” Dean sat back in his chair, mulling over Sam’s story. “I still don’t see what’s so mysterious about a missing family. People go missing all the time. Where’s the case here?”

“I did a little digging about the history of the hotel,” continued Sam. “Turns out, the place has a kind of checkered past. Two other families turned up either missing or dead. Both of the fathers were hotel caretakers, both families disappeared during the off-season, and the disappearances happened twenty years apart, almost to the day.”

“And when was the last disappearance?” asked Dean, guessing the answer.

“Twenty years ago.”

“Good enough for me,” Dean said, rising from his chair. “Let’s go check it out.”

\---------------------------

The late-afternoon sun cast a fiery red glow over the tops of the snow-covered mountains surrounding the hotel. As Dean eased the Impala up the sloping drive, the boys noticed a flurry of activity all around them. Groundskeepers were trimming hedges, kitchen staff were unloading truckloads of food, and various maintenance staff were wiping windows and carrying in freshly-cleaned rugs. Dean parked the Impala in one of the closer visitor spots, and he and Sam stepped out, adjusting their suit jackets and ties as they approached the hotel entrance.

It was even busier inside, with maids and clerks scurrying around addressing various small details throughout the hotel. The brothers spotted the manager at once--a short, slight man in a three-piece suit, complete with paisley tie and pocket square. His sharp voice carried throughout the lobby as he followed his workers through their tasks. His gaze turned to Sam and Dean as they approached, and he turned and practically ran in their direction.

“I’m terribly sorry, gentlemen, but the Overlook is not yet available for booking--” he began, but was quickly cut off.

“We’re not here for a room,” Dean interrupted brusquely, brandishing his wallet with the fake FBI badge inside. “I’m Special Agent Pangborn, FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Bannerman.” Beside him, Sam displayed his badge as well. “And you are…?”

The man looked a bit surprised, but forced out a reply. “I-I’m Geoffrey Winston. I am the General Manager of the Overlook Hotel.” He gaped a bit at the badges before regaining enough composure to continue. “What, uh--what can I do for you, agents?”

“We’re investigating a missing persons case,” said Sam, opening his notebook. “A Mister Joseph Calvert and his family? We understand Mr. Calvert was the winter caretaker of the hotel.”

The manager’s face fell a bit. “Yes. Joe’s a good man. Been the caretaker here for a couple of seasons now. Nice family. I wish I knew what to tell you.” He looked around them briefly before continuing. “I arrived here yesterday, to begin the process of getting the hotel ready to reopen. Everything appeared to be in perfect order, but Joe and his family were nowhere to be found. I tried calling them, but I got absolutely no response. No answer, no voicemail, no nothing. It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Were you in contact with any of Joe’s friends? Family members?” Dean asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any other contacts. The Calverts kind of kept to themselves. If they have other family nearby, I wasn’t aware of it. And they left no emergency contacts with me, other than each other.”

“Any evidence of foul play?” Sam questioned.

The manager’s face paled a bit more. Clearing his throat, he replied, “None that I could see.”

“Mind if we look around?” Dean’s question was really rhetorical at this point, and the manager knew it.

“Of course not. Be my guest.”

“Thanks,” Sam offered a handshake. “Let us know if you think of anything else?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He accepted the business card Sam offered, then quickly stalked off, barking more orders at the harried staff.

“So, he looked a little nervous,” Dean murmured.

Sam shrugged. “Wouldn’t you be? An FBI investigation could be bad for business, and it’s busy enough up here already without us being here.”

“Think he knows something he’s not telling us?”

Sam pondered for a moment. “Not sure yet.”

“Excuse me, sir!” The manager’s voice bounced across the lobby, but this time it wasn’t directed at Sam and Dean. “Sir! I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t be in here!”

The brothers turned to see a man standing just inside the main entrance. He was a bit dirty and dishevelled, with an unfocused look on his face. He appeared to be entranced by something on the ceiling. The manager continued to try and get his attention, but he could not.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other before heading toward the stranger. As they approached him, they heard him muttering something under his breath.

“This isn’t supposed to be here….”

\---------------------

“Sir--!” The manager continued to try and engage the stranger, until Sam put up a hand to silence him. Sam approached the newcomer slowly. “Hey…. Can we help you?”

If the haggard man standing in front of them heard Sam’s words, he gave no indication. Sam waited, patient as ever, as Dean took the opportunity to size him up as he did any potential threat. At first look, the man appeared to be fairly harmless; he was a bit shorter than Dean, average build, with a wild mop of hair and intense dark eyes. To be truthful, the guy reminded him a little bit of Castiel, though more casually-dressed. The association made Dean relax his guard ever so slightly, until he remembered the day he first realized how freakishly strong Cas was. The hand nearest Dean’s gun twitched ever so slightly.

The stranger’s gaze began to drift downward from the ceiling until it landed on Sam’s face. His mouth was slack, his eyes haunted. For a moment it appeared that the stranger had lost his bearings entirely. Then he slowly licked his lips and tried to speak.

“I thought…,” he began quietly.

The manager attempted to interject again, but Dean shushed him and motioned for him to stay back.

The man spoke again. “Sorry,” he began. “I just...didn’t think this was still here. There was...an explosion...I thought….” He closed his eyes as his voice drifted off.

Sam reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. What’s your name?”

The man opened his eyes and fixed them on Sam once more. “Torrance. Dan Torrance.” He at least had the presence of mind to offer his hand for Sam to shake, but now it was Sam whose features registered surprise. He took Dan’s offered hand, mostly out of habit, and shook it slowly.

Dean watched the exchange for another moment before clearing his throat, breaking into the conversation. “I’m Special Agent Pangborn. This is my partner, Special Agent Bannerman. We’re with the FBI.” 

Dan slowly turned his gaze to meet Dean’s, and Dean couldn’t help but recognize the look of a man in shock.

“What did you say your name was?” Sam asked again, more quietly this time.

“Dan Torrance. My father was--”

“A caretaker here,” Sam finished.

Dan refocused his blank stare on Sam. “Yes. How did you know that?”

Sam ignored the question for a moment, and instead turned back to Dean. “You remember the families I was telling you about? The ones that disappeared every twenty years?”

It was Dean’s turn to look confused. “Yeah. So?”

“So, before this last disappearance, the most recent family to have disappeared was the Torrance family. Jack, Wendy, and their son. Danny.” Sam paused, and he and Dean looked back at the man before them. “The police report said the entire family had died,” Sam finished.


	2. The Visions

Dean blinked and shook his head, trying to process this new bit of information. He suddenly remembered the hotel manager standing in stunned silence next to him. 

"You know what?" he said in his best soothing voice. "I'm sure this is just a simple misunderstanding. Why don't you go ahead and get back to what you were doing, and let us take it from here."

The manager nodded and slowly walked off. Dean turned back to Sam and Dan, who were still sharing a confused look between them. "Okay," said Dean, "the way I see it, one of two things is happening here. Either the police report was wrong, or...." Dean eyed Dan warily. "Or you're not who you say you are."

Sam threw a tense glance in Dean's direction. Dan dropped his gaze to the floor, sighing deeply. "You wouldn't understand," he said, so softly that the boys almost didn't hear him amid the bustle surrounding them.

"Try me," Dean countered. He glanced briefly around the room, not wanting to attract unwarranted attention by raising his voice too loudly. He moved closer to Dan in a way that he hoped didn’t look threatening. "We may not understand everything, but there's not a lot out there that we haven't seen."

"Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere a little...quieter?" Sam suggested, and the three of them walked out of the lobby, in the direction of the ballroom. Dean quickly noticed the freshly-stocked bar and began to head in that direction. Dan stopped just inside the doorway, refusing to go further. He eyed the liquor bottles warily.

Sam recognized the look of an alcoholic. "We can go somewhere else if you want," he said gently.

Dan just smiled ruefully and headed toward a table a good distance away from the bar. "It's okay. I'll be okay."

The three of them took seats at the table, while Dan's gaze continued to travel around the spacious, gleaming ballroom. 

"I don't know how," he said, almost to himself, "but they got it to look exactly the same."

Sam prompted him to elaborate. "You said something about an explosion?"

"Yes," Dan replied. "It was the boiler. My dad didn't get to it in time. He was...doing other things." He shuddered a bit at an unspoken memory before continuing. "The hotel was destroyed. My father was killed. My mother and I--well, we felt it best to just disappear. A friend told the police we had all died in the explosion. They seemed content with that. Guess it explained why there were no bodies."

"Not even your father?" Dean asked.

"No," Dan replied. "I...He was chasing me, in the hedge maze outside. I lost track of him at some point. Then there was the explosion, and my mother just took me and ran."

"Why was your father chasing you?" asked Sam.

Dan's face turned grim. "Whatever that was at the end, it might have looked like my father, but it wasn't him. It was something inhuman. It infected my dad, and it used him to try and kill us. I don't know why. I don't think any of us did, least of all my father."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look. They’d had their share of monsters masquerading as people they knew and loved.

Dean pressed on. “When did you know something had happened to your father? Did you see anything unusual? Smell sulfur? Anything like that?”

There was silence for a moment as Dan sat quietly with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he spoke softly, almost under his breath. “I think I knew the minute we arrived here. Tony told me. So did Mr. Hallorann. He said it was something called ‘shining’, and that he could do it too. I never really understood then, and I can’t exactly explain it now. But I just...know things.”

“So you’re what, like a psychic or something?” Dean’s question came out a bit more harshly than he’d wanted, but this was definitely unlike anything they’d heard before. He was having a hard time figuring out where this fit in with the other monsters they usually dealt with.

Dan finally made eye contact directly with Dean. His eyes were the eyes of a man who hadn’t slept in weeks. “It’s like that. Only different. It’s not pleasant.” He paused briefly, then looked back down at his hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Dan,” Sam kept his voice soft and calm, doing his best to keep their companion from getting too upset. “You should know that Dean and I...well, we sort of specialize in...let’s call them paranormal events. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said there’s not a lot we haven’t seen before.”

Dan’s eyes grew wide as Sam continued.

“Now, can you tell us anything about whatever it was that attacked your father?”

“That’s just the thing,” said Dan. “It was never about a thing, a creature you could see and either fight or run from. I mean, there are--there _were_ \--pretty damned scary things roaming the halls of this hotel. But they reminded me more of guests that couldn’t leave. The thing that was really haunted? Really out to get my father? It was this.” He gestured around the empty ballroom.

“It was the hotel.”

\---------------------

“As I said before,” the manager huffed, “the Overlook is simply not ready to accommodate guests properly.”

“We understand, Mr. Winston,” replied Sam, “but it’s very important to our case that we remain on the premises while we get everything straightened out. And I’m sure you’d like to have everything resolved before your guests begin arriving, right?”

There was little else to be said. Sam and Dean simply were not going to take no for an answer. Finally the manager gave in. “There is no room service, no maid service. It will be as if you simply are not here.”

Dean grinned. “Fine by me.”

The manager shot Dean an icy stare as he fished around for room keys. “Enjoy your stay,” he said curtly before stalking off.

Sam handed Dan one of the two hotel keys. They’d been placed in adjoining rooms, on the second floor. “Why don’t you get some rest?” he suggested. “I’m sure this must be difficult for you.”

Dan looked at the number on the key, then quietly took one last look around the lobby before walking slowly in the direction of his room. Sam and Dean watched him for a moment before sharing a puzzled look.

Dean shook his head worriedly. “We gotta watch that guy. Something’s not right.”

“I agree,” Sam replied. “But Dean, we need to remember he experienced some pretty heavy trauma when he was living here.”

“Are we absolutely sure about that? I mean, really, a haunted hotel? Couldn’t that all be in his head? For all we know, he could just be crazy.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Sam, pocketing his room key. “Feel like taking a little look around?”

The sun was starting to set behind the mountains as Sam and Dean walked out of the lobby and into the courtyard. Dean had suggested they start by looking through the hedge maze Dan had mentioned. Sam had gone back to the Impala to grab his EMF reader, which he now switched on as they entered the towering evergreen hedges. The maze was enormous, and set the brothers on edge almost immediately. But the EMF reader was silent as they followed one pathway after another.

“Can you imagine being chased through this as a kid?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Yeah, at night, no less.” Dean’s reply sounded strange, faded.

Sam stopped short. “What do you mean, ‘at night’?”

Dean turned around and gave Sam an annoyed look. “What do you think I mean? I mean ‘at night’! It’s probably _extra scary_ to a kid at night!”

“Dean, Dan didn’t say anything about that stuff happening at night.”

A short but uncomfortable silence passed between the brothers. At last, Dean gave a small shrug, muttering “lucky guess” as he walked past Sam and began retracing their steps out of the maze. Sam hesitated briefly before following him out.

The two spoke very little as they returned to the hotel. Once in their room, Dean went wordlessly to one of the beds and stretched out on it. Within minutes, he was asleep. Sam, too restless to even attempt sleeping and yet reluctant to begin exploring the hotel corridors without backup, instead cracked open his laptop and began to search for news reports about the Overlook. If there had been an explosion as Dan said, then that would have been part of the police report surrounding the family. But the report was woefully short on details of the accident, mentioning only that the caretaker and his family had died in the hotel sometime during the off-season. Further searches for Dan Torrance yielded no results; it was as if the boy had fallen off the face of the map.

Could he have faked his death? Sam wondered. And if so, why?

None of it added up. Eventually Sam gave up and tried to get some sleep himself.

\---------------------

It was red. Everywhere he looked, Dean saw red.

He was roaming the halls of the Overlook, pacing like a caged animal looking for an escape route. The last time Dean had felt this way, he’d had the Mark of Cain burning on his arm, its fire scorching his veins. The air felt thick around him, squeezing his lungs, pushing against his body as he moved. Sweat stood out on his brow, and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. The stench of copper and rotting flesh clogged his sinuses.

And then there was the buzzing. An interminable, constant pulsing thrummed through his head, throwing him off balance as he tried to remain upright. Within that current of static, Dean could swear he heard sounds--whispers, wordless syllables that picked and scratched at his brain. The buzzing and the whispers grew louder as he lurched down the hallway, the noise rising in a crescendo that started to sound like howling or shouting. Then suddenly, he heard a different sound. A wet sound. Dean stopped in his tracks as his vision swam in and out of focus, the entirety of his concentration focused on the elevator doors in front of him.

All at once, a tidal wave rushed down the hallway, gushing toward Dean as he stood rooted to the spot. The coppery smell grew stronger, and the roar of the wave filled his ears. Some part of his mind was reeling at the impossibility of a freaking tidal wave in the middle of a hotel in the mountains, while another part of his mind registered something even more disturbing. The onslaught of liquid wasn't water.

It was blood.

\-----------------------------

Sam awoke with a start and looked around the room. He lay still, muscles tensed, as he tried to identify what had roused him from sleep. On the other side of the room, Dean flinched and moaned in his bed; his choked, guttural noises were apparently the source of the disturbance. Slowly, Sam got out of his bed and padded over to where Dean lay. He watched with a worried expression as Dean’s fists clenched at the bedsheets, even as the rest of his body lay taut and rigid. Sam couldn’t make any sense of Dean’s mumblings--he seemed to be having a nightmare of some kind. Sam’s mind shifted uncomfortably to memories of finding Dean in a similar state-- _please_ , he begged silently, _no more of this. No more._

Sam reached out tentatively and grasped Dean's shoulder, shaking him gently at first, then more firmly.

"Dean. Dean! Wake up!"

Dean's moaning stopped suddenly, and it was as if he was holding his breath. As he lay motionless on the bed, Dean's eyes slowly opened, wide and haunted, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. It was as if Sam wasn't even in the room.

"Dean!" Sam shook his brother again.

"Red…." The word spilled quietly from Dean's gaping mouth.

Then all at once, Dean was fully awake, gasping for breath and thrashing and clawing at the sheets. He jumped at the sight of Sam standing over his bed. "Sam! What the hell?"

Sam kept a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's okay. I think you must have been having a nightmare."

"Oh," Dean considered it for a moment. Then he looked back at Sam, with eyes that seemed to bore straight through to the wall behind him. "Did I...? Is everything...?" His eyes drifted away from Sam's as his voice cracked and faded. Soon, he was simply sitting on the bed, staring at nothing. Nothing that Sam could see, at least.

"Dean?" Sam tried to regain his attention, but Dean was already lying back down on his bed.

"Need more time," Dean mumbled. "Not ready yet...."

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied. "You should, um, probably get some more sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

Dean lay on the bed, eyes closed again, breath slow and regular, but Sam could see that his muscles were still tensed.

"I'm sure everything will be better in the morning," Sam said again, more to reassure himself than his brother.

Sam returned to his own bed and lay back down. Sleep did not come to him for a long while.

\-----------------------------

As the glow of the bedside lamp attempted to stave off the surrounding darkness, Dan Torrance lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had at some point in his life given up the habit of sleeping with the light on--though at an age much later than most--but being back _here_ altered Dan’s needs considerably. It didn’t help that the rooms they were given were just a few doors away from the room Dan remembered the most, the one his father had forbidden him to enter, and with good reason.

He shifted his weight on the bed, adjusting the covers for the hundredth time, and slamming his eyes shut once more in a vain attempt to chase down the sandman. But instead, Dan could swear he heard a voice, whispering to him from close by. 

_Don’t be ridiculous,_ he berated himself, _you’re just letting your imagination take over. There’s nothing here._ His brain refused to listen, though, instead conjuring up long-buried memories--the plush carpet underneath his feet, the gleaming chrome fixtures in the bathroom, the shadowy figure behind the shower curtain….

_NO._

_That. Woman. Was. Not. Real._

Then why was he still hearing her voice?

Heart hammering in his chest, Dan slowly opened his eyes.

Above him, impossibly tethered to the ceiling, was a blond woman wearing a flowing white dress. Her eyes were rolling in panic, her mouth frozen open with fear. Dan’s brain had just enough time to register one lone fact--that this was not the woman from his nightmares--before she burst into flames.

\-----------------------------

Sam had nearly convinced his troubled mind to allow him to sleep when the screaming began. In seconds, he was out of bed, gun in hand, eyes darting across the room to Dean, who was also out of bed and alert, gun drawn.

Thank God it wasn’t Dean screaming this time.

The brothers were out the door and in the hallway when they realized that the very human screams were coming from the room next to theirs. They exchanged a brief glance-- _Dan, it’s gotta be_ \--before Dean began pounding on the door.

“Dan!” Dean roared as he tried to gain entrance. He and Sam took turns throwing themselves shoulder first at the door, to no avail. “Dan! Open the door!”

Inside, the screams died down into a kind of hoarse panting that slowly drifted closer to the door. Dean stood back as they heard the sounds of locks opening and chain rattling, both brothers training their guns on the doorway, just in case. The door opened only a little, with Dan eyeing them warily.

“Dan? You okay?” asked Sam. He lowered his gun and took a step toward the door.

Dan opened the door wider, still catching his breath. He cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, agents, I’m fine. Sorry, ah...about the noise.”

“You were screaming,” Dean clarified. “You sure everything’s okay?” Dan noticed that Dean had not completely lowered his weapon.

“I’ll be fine,” Dan replied. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Bad dream, I think that’s all it was. For a second there, I...thought my room was on fire. Had to be a bad dream.” It was as if he was trying to reassure himself more than Sam and Dean.

“You want to talk about it?” Sam offered.

“No.” Dan began to close the door again. “I just want to sleep.”

Before either of the Winchesters could say anything else, Dan had softly closed the door, clicking the locks and chain firmly back into place. Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

“Well,” Dean shrugged as he started back to their room, “at least the hotel isn’t on fire.”


	3. The Visitors

The room was filled with sunlight when Dean finally awoke the next morning, groggy and disoriented. A quick glance across the room revealed that he was alone.

 _Great,_ he grumbled to himself, _Sam went off on his own again._

As he prepared for the day, Dean tried to remember the events of the night before. His brain felt fuzzier than usual, fuzzier than after a long night of hard drinking, which last night definitely was not. He remembered concern about a fire in the hotel, and something about a lot of blood. Had there been a fight? He didn’t remember one.

Dean eventually found Sam downstairs in the dining room, his laptop open in front of him and a cup of coffee next to him. Sam gave Dean a cautious look as he pulled up a chair.

“Good afternoon,” Sam snarked. “Get in all your beauty rest?”

“Shut up,” Dean muttered. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I was able to interview a few more people on the hotel staff today, and none of them mentioned anything out of the ordinary.” Sam gestured to his laptop, where he’d been reviewing old newspaper articles. “Most of them knew the history of the hotel, but it didn’t seem to bother them coming to work here. Apparently the pay is pretty good.”

“Fancy place like this, I’d think it would have to be,” Dean agreed.

“Yeah. Some people said they actually took the job hoping to see something scary, but so far, nothing.” Sam paused, chuckling. “It’s kind of funny. Some of them were actually disappointed.”

“Yeah well, that’s because they’ve obviously never been scared before,” Dean scoffed. “What about Dan? Where’s he?”

“I’m not sure, actually.” Sam gave Dean a worried look. “I knocked on his door this morning, but he didn’t answer. Either he’s still asleep, or he’s wandered off somewhere. I haven’t seen him at all so far today.”

“Huh. Well, that’s encouraging.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “All right, I’m going to take a walk around the hotel and the grounds. See what sort of spooks I can dig up.”

Sam smirked as Dean got up. “Good luck with that.”

Sam watched briefly as Dean strode out to the hotel lobby, stopping a busy clerk with his badge and beginning a conversation. Bringing his attention back to his laptop, he began reviewing yet another story on the rebuilding of the Overlook Hotel. The community had seemed so excited about the revival; it was hard to believe the stories of the horrors that supposedly took place here.

But, he supposed, that was probably what the Calvert family had thought too, or else they wouldn’t have taken jobs here.

It didn’t make sense. Everyone Sam talked with who had known the Calverts described them as a nice, normal family. Sure, they were shaken up about their disappearances, but nobody seemed particularly bothered by the idea that something unusual was actually happening in the hotel itself. Then Dan Torrance had arrived, and that had sent Sam’s brain spinning.

Where the hell was that guy, anyway?

Sam decided to abandon the research for a while in favor of tracking Dan down. He knew he wanted to talk to the guy more, especially in light of the nightmare episode last night. Sam stashed the laptop in his hotel room, and after receiving no answer yet again when he knocked on Dan’s door, decided it was time for a thorough search of the Overlook.

When Sam made his way downstairs, he found the main floor strangely deserted. Before he’d gone upstairs, the lobby and adjoining areas had been filled with the usual bustle of painters, cleaners, and other staff making painstaking updates to the space prior to its grand re-opening. He’d only been upstairs for a few minutes, he reasoned with himself, surely not long enough for the workaholic manager to have called it the end of the work day. But now there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“Hello?” Sam called out. His voice echoed off the empty walls and polished floors.

No response.

However, Sam did notice something that he hadn’t seen before--a large framed photograph hanging just to the left of the registration desk. It was an old photo, just judging from the coloring; on closer inspection, he noticed a date at the bottom. July 4, 1921. Sam’s gaze travelled briefly over the many faces in the photo, before being drawn to the man standing right in front. There was something familiar about that face somehow, though Sam couldn’t put his finger on just what it was.

Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, and when he turned around, Sam saw two young girls standing side by side. They were young, surely no more than ten years old, and identical twins from the looks of them. They both had long, dark blonde hair and were wearing identical blue dresses. They held hands as they glared at Sam.

“Hey--” Sam took a step toward the girls, but a bright, stabbing pain in his head stopped him in his tracks. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head in agony. When he looked back up at the girls, they seemed to be staring at him from endlessly far away. Sam’s vision began to blur around the edges.

Then softly, impossibly, he heard voices.

 _He didn’t come with us._  
_He shouldn’t have come with us._

 _He shouldn’t be here now._  
_You shouldn’t be here now._

_You should come with us._

Sam tried to shake the fog from his disoriented mind, but the movement only made it worse. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. Still, the voices continued.

_He shouldn’t be here._  
_You shouldn’t be here._

The room began to spin around him, and Sam’s world went black.

\-----------------------------

Dean started the afternoon wandering somewhat aimlessly around the grounds. He had a brief, unproductive conversation with a gardener who looked old enough to have been working at the Overlook since it opened, but as it turned out, he’d only been hired a few days ago. He had passing knowledge of the previous events in the hotel’s history, but nothing more than what Sam had gleaned from newspaper articles a couple of days ago.

After the gardener excused himself and returned to his work, Dean found himself back at the entrance to the towering hedge maze. Hesitantly, Dean put his hand out and placed it gently against the evergreen branches, half expecting a bolt of lightning or a flash of memory to knock him off his feet. But the only thing that happened was that the sun disappeared behind the clouds overhead, accentuating the surrounding shadows and darkening Dean’s vision. Snippets of his conversation with Sam the day before came floating back into his mind.

_“Can you imagine being chased through this as a kid?”_

_“Yeah, at night, no less.”_

_“What do you mean, ‘at night’?”_

_“What do you think I mean? I mean ‘at night’! It’s probably extra scary to a kid at night!”_

_“Dean, Dan didn’t say anything about that stuff happening at night.”_

“Lucky guess,” Dean muttered again. He found his feet leading him back into the hedge maze, seemingly not following any particular path, and yet not feeling lost. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean saw himself gliding in a similar fashion through the halls of the bunker, a hammer clenched in his fist, blood pounding through his veins, Sam’s name snarling out of his throat. His footsteps quickened, though for some reason his right leg was developing a slight drag, with something akin to pins-and-needles prickling under his skin.

_Get back here! Sammy! …..DANNY!_

Dean was running now, or at least as much of a run as his affected leg would afford him. His empty fist clenched helplessly at his side. He could feel drops of sweat forming on his brow. It was as though he could smell the waves of fear rolling off the frightened child hiding somewhere in this godforsaken maze. He whirled around a tight corner, another shout welling up in his throat, and--

\--came face to face with Castiel.

Surprise drew him up short. Wide eyes took in the sudden brightness of the midday sun, returned to its proper place from behind the clouds. Had it really been that bright the entire time? Dean blew out a frustrated breath.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was surprisingly calm, in spite of Dean’s rather obvious agitation.

“Uh, hey Cas,” Dean managed, taking one more breath in an attempt to steady himself. “What-uh, what are you doing here?” Dean couldn’t remember even telling the angel where they’d gone, much less calling for him in this particular moment.

“Sam called me,” Castiel replied. “He said you were on a case, but things were going...strangely.” He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly and tilting his head the way he so often did when he was confused or studying something closely. “He said he was worried. About you.”

A part of Dean’s mind filled with gratitude. If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit that he was worried too. And Sam had always been so damned perceptive. The rest of Dean’s mind, however, reacted in its usual fashion.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he snapped. “It’s just another case. Haunted hotel or something. No big deal. Not like we’re dealing with the freaking Darkness or whatever.” _For now,_ his mind finished.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Castiel said. “There is something happening here at this hotel. I could feel it the moment I arrived.”

“Yeah? What kind of something?” Dean was suddenly feeling stubborn, unhelpful.

“It’s difficult to say. It’s no ordinary monster or demon. Nothing I’ve encountered in quite some time. If ever.” Castiel’s confused expression remained. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“Okay, well, first things first. We should probably get out of here and back to the hotel.” An unexplained chill raced down Dean’s back. Although he was reluctant to admit it, Dean was suddenly very thankful Castiel was there.

They walked out of the maze and back toward the hotel, Dean’s limbs suddenly trembling with more than a twinge of relief. He was filling Castiel in on the details of the case so far, describing the task master of a hotel manager for starters, when he suddenly realized that the hotel and the grounds were now deserted. The lobby, usually bustling with activity, was silent other than the echoes of their footsteps. There wasn’t a soul to be seen anywhere. Not even Sam. Half instinct, half habit, Dean drew his gun as he and Castiel split up to search the main floor.

Dean walked stealthily past the front desk, rounded the corner near the end of the lobby and came face to face with the elevator. It was as though Dean was looking at it for the first time, wide steel doors gleaming dully in the light. A flash of memory

_\--red--_

raced through his mind, but before Dean could give it another moment of thought, he heard Castiel calling to him from the other side of the lobby.

Castiel was standing near the entrance to the ballroom, staring silently into the empty room. Dean looked around, trying to figure out what had prompted Castiel to call him over, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing, that is, other than the stunned expression on Castiel’s face.

“Cas…?”

Castiel still stood frozen in place, staring off into the darkened room in front of him. Dean tentatively reached out and put a hand on the angel’s arm, ready to flee or shoot if necessary. Truth be told, he was also ready to block a punch. He’d seen similar contortions on Castiel’s face before, and they usually didn’t end well for either of them.

Dean’s touch apparently shook Castiel out of his trance, if only slightly. He turned, wide eyed, and looked at Dean.

“Why? How?”

It was Dean’s turn to look surprised. “Why what, Cas? What’s the matter?”

“You...don’t see it…?” Castiel’s voice trailed off as his gaze returned to the ballroom.

“See _what_ , Cas? What the hell is going on?” Dean was growing impatient. As far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing to see.

Castiel’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“Who, Cas? Who’s here?!”

“Lucifer.”

\-----------------------------

The last time he felt this strung out was when Castiel had broken the barrier in his mind and all the pieces of his soul were trying to put themselves back together. His brain itched. His body ached. It took a minute for Sam to recognize the voice he heard floating nearby. For some reason, he was expecting to hear the voice of...a little girl? He couldn’t remember why that might be. But no, this was a man. Granted, he’d been looking for the guy earlier. This just hadn't been the expected outcome.

“I don’t know _why_ you’re here, I don’t know _how_ you’re here, but believe me, things are going to be different this time.” Dan was pacing back and forth, his hands clenching and unclenching in a fit of pent-up rage.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as pain blossomed in the back of his head. The abrupt change in scenery meant that either he’d been out for a while, or he’d been dreaming. _Unless you’re dreaming now, of course,_ his mind supplied helpfully. Keeping his eyes closed, Sam tried to scope out this new situation. He was lying on his back, most likely on a bed, while Dan paced and ranted nearby. He almost tried to sit up, but quickly realized that Dan believed him to still be unconscious. He had no idea what happened, or where he was. The last thing he remembered was a picture. Hanging on the wall, near the lobby. Something familiar about it, but what?

The questions kept whirling in Sam’s mind like a tornado. Fighting the rising panic, Sam slowed his breathing, resisted the urge to squeeze his eyelids to keep them shut, and forced himself to listen as intently as he could. He needed to find a way out of this. Now.

\-----------------------------

At Castiel’s quiet pronouncement, Dean whirled around, scoping out every angle of the room in an attempt to find someone who could not possibly be there. _That bastard’s rotting in Hell where he belongs!_ his mind screamed. But Castiel still stood silent, unmoving, staring into the ballroom as though it were some new and utterly fascinating doorway to Perdition.

Dean followed Castiel’s gaze into the room, trying in vain to see what the angel could apparently see. But there was nothing in the room, nobody there but the two of them. Dean stepped directly in front of Cas, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Cas! HEY! Snap out of it, man!” The sight of Castiel looking not at him but _through_ him was enough to shake Dean right down to his core. He’d experienced his share of intense gazes from the angel over the years, but never anything quite as cold and inhuman as this. He would have almost preferred to be back in Hell, alone. Frustrated, he took his friend’s face in his hands and tried to physically pull his attention back to him. “CAS!”

Then suddenly, Dean heard a strange-sounding voice. It echoed in the space behind him as though it were twenty feet away. But that didn’t explain the puff of air that caressed the back of his neck, causing the hairs there to stand on end.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Slowly, Dean turned in the direction of Castiel’s continued stare. There was a figure standing squarely in the middle of the ballroom, bathed in shadow. He spoke again, with a voice that Dean both heard and felt everywhere at once.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Snapping out of his trance, Dean grabbed his gun and levelled it at the shadowy figure. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The figure began to move, walking--no, _gliding_ \--toward the entrance where Dean and Castiel stood. Shadows continued to play across its face, continued to conceal anything and everything.

“You didn’t let me finish.” It was close enough to Dean now that he could clearly identify the mysterious voice as male, quiet at first, but rising in both volume and cadence. “I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to _bash your brains in!_ ”

Dean needed no further prompting. He fired off four shots as the mysterious man drew closer, raising an arm that clutched what looked like a baseball bat. Dean was positive the shots landed--he was definitely close enough, and certainly well-practiced--but the thing kept charging forward as though nothing had happened.

It was shrieking now. Dean could feel the voice beating into his brain.

_“GONNA BASH ‘EM RIGHT THE FUCK IN!”_

Dean kept firing. He was dimly aware that he too was screaming. Screaming for the angel who stood still as a statue behind him. 

The thing kept charging forward.

Then everything went black.

\-----------------------------

Logic tried to take its rightful place at the forefront of Sam’s mind. It stood to reason that he and Dan couldn’t have gone too far from the hotel lobby, which meant that they were likely back in one of the rooms. Having already found the unused rooms locked, occupied or not, Sam assumed that they’d landed back in Dan’s room. Which hopefully meant that if Dan kept up with his nonsensical rantings, at some point Dean would come back to their room and hear him next door.

Dan’s pacing was getting faster, more agitated, more frantic. Sam could tell that he was talking to someone, and that the someone wasn’t him. Weren’t they alone in the room? Was someone else there? Sam strained his ears to try and pick up any stray sound that might better help him figure out what was happening.

“No, _you_ listen to _me_! There’s too much snow out there!” Dan paused. “Who _cares_ about the damned Snow Cat?!” There was another pause. From the sound of it, Dan had stopped pacing and was listening intently--to what, Sam had no idea. Silence continued to wrap itself around them like an animal lying in wait, broken only by soft gasps as Dan tried to catch his breath.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice dropped to a whisper. “No,” he said again. “She’s not here. Mom’s...she’s gone. It’s just you and me now.”

Was it really possible? Did Dan believe he was talking to his father?

All at once, Sam realized why the old photograph had looked so familiar.

The person standing front and center had been none other than Jack Torrance. Sam remembered his picture from the news articles about his death.

_But how…?_

There was a sudden crumpling sound. Sam risked giving himself away and opened his eyes. He looked around the room in a panic, his eyes finally coming to rest on Dan, lying in a heap in front of the closet door.

“Dan!” Sam jumped off the bed and knelt down beside the man. “Hey, HEY! Dan, wake up. Wake up!” Dan’s eyes stared past him for a moment, making his blood run cold. Then the man gave a huge gasp, eyes rolling back in their sockets as his body arched off the carpeted floor. “Dan!” Sam shouted again.

\-----------------------------

“Dean. Dean!” A low, gravelly voice pulled Dean back into consciousness. He felt a hand gripping his left shoulder, shaking it. He tried to speak as he opened his eyes and peered up at the fuzzy shape looming over him.

Castiel.

Dean was disoriented. Had he blacked out? His recent memories were all jumbled, shadowy. He could smell gunpowder, and something else that he couldn’t readily name. Something musty and old.

He sat up slowly, clutching his head with a grimace. “Cas? What the hell happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel admitted. His voice was tinged with regret. “I believe something...overcame me. Apparently, it overcame you as well.” He peered into Dean’s eyes, and Dean could see the concern in them. “Are you alright?”

Dean had a sudden flash of memory, of Castiel’s cold and lifeless eyes staring past him at something Dean himself hadn’t seen. He shivered. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Castiel helped Dean to his feet. “I believe we may have discovered the source of the unrest here.” The angel paused, gazing back into the now-deserted ballroom. “It was old, Dean. Powerful.”

Another shiver ran through Dean. Cas was obviously rattled by whatever it was they’d encountered. “We need to find Sam. Now.”

\-----------------------------

“Sam! SAMMY!” Dan was just starting to rouse out of what looked like a deep trance or sleep when Sam heard Dean’s voice flying up the stairs. The sound of his footfalls indicated that he was running down the hall, right toward where he and Dan were. There was a sound of a nearby door flung open. “SAM!” came Dean’s voice again.

“Dean! In here” Sam left Dan to get his bearings and wrenched open the door. As he suspected, they were in Dan’s room.

“Hey! You okay?” Dean rushed over to him with something like real fear in his eyes, clapping him on the shoulder and looking him up and down.

“I’m fine, Dean. What happened to you?”

“We’re not sure yet.” Suddenly Castiel appeared at the entrance to the hallway. Sam’s initial relief was tempered by the unrest he saw on the angel’s face. Cas was more concerned than usual, which usually didn’t mean anything good. 

Even so, Sam felt his face relax into at least a semblance of a smile. “Hey, Cas. Glad you’re here.”

Castiel nodded grimly. “Thank you, Sam. And your suspicions were correct. There is definitely something strange happening here.”

“I think I know what it is,” came a quiet voice from behind them. Dan was on his feet, half in and half out of the hotel room where he’d taken Sam. “I think it’s my father. It doesn’t make sense...it’s not possible...but I think he’s come back from the dead.”


	4. The Confrontation

The four men sat quietly around a table in the empty dining room, a half-eaten pizza and a dozen empty beer bottles scattered nearby. Dan, in spite of his recent experience, was clutching a glass of water. He held it with both hands, much in the same way a child would while being told that there was no such thing as the boogeyman even though he had been lying awake in bed for half the night.

The feeling wasn’t too different now.

“It was like he was right there,” Dan mumbled. “I’ve experienced a lot of weird things in my life, but nothing like that. Nothing involving my dad. Not since….” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Not since he died.”

“This is the last place where you saw your father?” Castiel questioned, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. Sam and Dean had simply introduced him to Dan as a colleague rather than an angel, but Dan still seemed watchful and guarded around him.

“Yes,” Dan replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I dreamed about him a couple of times...after. Then, nothing. I think my mother tried to distract me, to help me forget what happened.”

“Where were you when he found you, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I was in the lobby. I’d been looking at a picture on the wall. And, there were these two little girls--”

“What?” Dan interrupted sharply.

“I saw these two little girls in the hallway--”

“What did they look like?” Dan demanded.

Sam fought to keep his voice steady in the face of Dan’s obvious panic. “I don’t know, they had kind of dark blond hair, they were wearing these matching dresses, blue, I think--”

“Did they talk to you? What did they say?” Dan was getting frantic now, his eyes huge like saucers.

“I don’t remember what they said,” Sam replied. “Do you--did you see them too?”

“Yes. When I was here as a child. Before.” Dan slumped in his seat, stunned.

“I don’t suppose your dad ever threatened to bash your brains in with a baseball bat?” Dean asked, tension obvious in his clenched jaw.

“Dean,” Sam admonished.

Dan turned to stare at Dean. “Not to me, no. He said that...to my mother.”

Sam turned back to Dean with a shocked expression that mirrored Dan’s. “How did you know that?”

Dean stared at the bottle in his hand. “I saw something. In the ballroom, earlier. It threatened me, I shot at it, and I guess it must have knocked me out or something.”

Sam turned to Castiel, incredulous. “Did you see it, too?”

“Not exactly.” Castiel replied. “I saw--I _thought_ I saw--Lucifer.”

Sam sat back in his seat, trying to digest this new information. Dan, however, gaped at Castiel.

“Lucifer?” he gasped. “Like, _the devil_ Lucifer?”

Castiel glanced briefly at Dean. “Yes,” he replied. “Like the devil.”

“Cas here is kind of...religious,” Dean supplied. He figured the poor guy had been through enough without having to deal with the knowledge that their best friend was literally an angel.

“I see,” Dan murmured. An uneasy silence descended among the men.

Finally Dean spoke up. “All right, well, we’re not going to get anywhere just sitting around like this. The important thing is that we’re all present and accounted-for. We’re safe.”

“For now,” Dan murmured.

“We’re all right,” Sam reassured Dan. “We’ve been around stuff like this our whole lives. We may not be able to explain what’s happening just yet, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Don’t worry.”

Dan looked up from the table, a mixture of gratitude and fatigue coloring his features. “I hope you’re right, Sam. I really do.”

\-----------------------------

Hours later, while the men slept, Castiel crept silently through the hotel. So far, he’d had no further experiences like the vision of Lucifer in the ballroom, and in fact saw nothing else out of the ordinary happening anywhere in the hotel. The hallways were unusually quiet, but Castiel chalked it up to the absence of the hotel staff, since the hotel was still not yet open to the public. It would be soon, however, and they would need to hurry if they were going to find and contain whatever was wreaking havoc.

Discouraged, Castiel returned to Sam and Dean’s room. It would have been just as easy to find a key and get a separate room for himself, but old habits die hard and Castiel was reluctant to leave the Winchesters for too long. In particular, he missed the early days, where he often found himself watching Dean as he slept, the only times he ever saw the man in a truly relaxed state. Dean quickly caught on to Castiel’s habit, though, and immediately discouraged him from continuing. There were times, however, where Castiel’s need to know that Dean was alright superseded any worry about making the man feel uncomfortable. This, he reasoned, was simply one of those times.

On this particular night, Castiel took a chance and seated himself gently at the foot of Dean’s bed. To his surprise, Dean made no motion in response. Usually he was such a light sleeper, Dean would often rouse at even the slightest movement nearby, which of course was how he had discovered Castiel’s habit in the first place. But tonight, Dean lay so still that for a moment the angel feared he might be dead. Castiel reached out, meaning to touch his fingertips to Dean’s forehead, curious about the man’s dreamstate. But at the last minute, he withdrew, telling himself he was content to simply sit with him as he dreamed.

Across the room, Sam also lay motionless in his sleep. This was also unlike him. Curious, Castiel rose to attend to the younger Winchester. He knew he was permitted to keep an eye on Sam when he was resting, that Sam was not as uncomfortable about these things as Dean was. Because of this, he didn’t hesitate to brush Sam’s hair away from his face and gently touch two fingers to his forehead. He closed his eyes, and looked inside Sam’s mind.

_It’s dark, grainy, reminiscent of the time he and Sam broke through the impaired mental state of a fellow hunter who was living in a cartoon-like dream world. He can’t find Sam at first, can only hear his voice calling out in the distance. But he feels another presence, some other thing that clearly doesn’t belong there._

_He reaches out in the darkness, following Sam’s voice. In Sam’s mind’s eye, Castiel begins to see a shape, something resembling a staircase, curving and rising up from his eye level. There is a figure on the stairs, screaming at Sam._

_“Please! Don’t hurt me!”_

_“I’m not going to hurt you! I don’t even know you!”_

_“Sam!” Castiel calls out, but neither dream-Sam nor the other dream-figure notice. The dream-figure is sobbing, taking wild swings at Sam with something that looks like a baseball bat._

_“Stay away from me! Don’t hurt me!”_

_“Please, it’s alright. I’m here to help. Put the bat down. Please!”_

_The figure on the stairs begins to shudder and glow. Her face and hair begin to change. She begins to look...familiar, somehow._

_Sam’s voice travels to Castiel, clear as a bell, and incredulous. “...Mom?”_

_The figure on the stairs bursts into flames._

All at once, Sam awakened, chest heaving and tears streaming. He started at the sight of Castiel beside him, looking every bit as surprised as he felt. But for all his agitation, he still lay motionless in the bed.

“It’s alright, Sam,” Castiel began, but he was interrupted by a bloodcurdling shriek. Sam was gaping wide-eyed at something over Castiel’s shoulder, and Cas turned to follow his eyes. In the corner of the room was a dark, shadowy figure, human in shape, cloaked in a deep, choking veil of smoke. It was holding its head between its hands and shrieking as if in agony. Sam and Cas looked back at each other and just as Sam began in earnest to try and move, a shot rang out from across the room.

Dean was up and out of bed, smoke rising from the barrel of his just-fired gun. He stared at the intruder with wild eyes.

“Sam! Cas! You two alright?” he shouted in the din.

“We’re fine,” Sam shouted back, finding himself able to move at last. He went for his own weapon and aimed it at the creature.

Castiel, meanwhile, was on his feet and moving slowly toward the monster, as if in a trance.

“Cas? What the hell are you doing?” Dean shouted.

Castiel gave no reply, but stopped moving as the creature stopped shrieking and fixed its own gaze on the angel. The cloud of smoke began to dissipate, giving the Winchesters a better look at the intruder, who for all intents and purposes could have been anyone--man, demon...angel.

Castiel raised his hand toward the figure, blue light glowing from his palm. The figure shrank back in response, but with nowhere to go, it appeared to be trapped. Confused, Castiel narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side as he regarded the intruder more closely.

“What are you?” he murmured.

With a sudden force of energy, the creature knocked Castiel to one side, morphing into something resembling demon smoke before escaping through the air vents.

Dean was at the angel’s side in an instant. “Cas? Are you alright? What the hell was that thing?”

Castiel leaned gratefully against Dean for a moment as he gathered his bearings. “I’m fine, Dean. Thank you.” He turned his attention briefly to Sam, assuring himself that he too was unhurt, before continuing. “I believe that ‘thing’ was an incubus.”

“An incubus? That’s new.” Dean mused.

“It attacks people while they sleep. While they dream.” Sam looked up at Castiel understanding dawning on his face. “It’s why I couldn’t move.”

“Exactly.” Castiel nodded. “I was looking in on you,” he admitted a bit sheepishly, “and neither of you were moving at all. I was worried. So I checked Sam, found the creature inside his nightmare.”

“You saw that?” Sam shuddered.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. He put a hand gently on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you still have nightmares about your mother.”

“Mom?” Dean whispered.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled. “But there was someone else there, too. A different woman. She was terrified, screaming at me.”

“If I had to guess, she was a previous victim of violence here at the hotel,” Castiel mused. “Like vengeful spirits, an incubus is often found at sites where instances of heavy emotional or physical trauma have occurred. They feed on that energy.”

“That thing would have a field day with our buddy Dan, then,” Dean said. He met Sam’s eyes with a start.

“Dan!” they both shouted at once.

In seconds, they were next door, pounding on Dan’s locked door. There was, as they could have expected, no response.

“Allow me,” Castiel offered, and the brothers stepped back to allow the angel to work. With a wave of his glowing palm, the door splintered apart. Sam and Dean charged into the room, guns drawn.

Dan Torrance was lying on his bed, still as death, his eyes rolling wildly behind his closed lids. Sam and Dean tried shaking him, slapping his limbs, anything they could think of to wake him, but it was no use.

Sam turned to Castiel. “Do you think you can enter his mind? Is the incubus in there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Castiel replied solemnly. He sat beside Dan on the bed and placed two fingers on the sleeping man’s forehead. He spasmed violently for a moment before collapsing on the bed across Dan’s sleeping form.

Dean and Sam exchanged worried looks. “I hope he knows what the hell he’s doing,” Dean muttered.

_The inside of Dan’s mind is surprisingly calm, reminiscent of a warehouse or a library. A storm rages at the edges of Dan’s consciousness, but inside, where Dan and Castiel are, there is nothing but an eerie stillness._

_Surprisingly, Dan seems neither surprised nor fearful at finding Castiel inside his head. “I knew there was something different about you,” he says simply._

_Castiel nods. “I’m an angel.”_

_At that, Dan’s eyes widen slightly. “Well,” he breathes, “it’s better than I expected, anyway.”_

_This does confuse Castiel, if only mildly. “What did you expect?”_

_“I’ve been haunted by monsters ever since I can remember,” Dan replies. “An angel? Let’s just say it’s a nice change of pace.”_

_“We need to get you out of here.”_

_“Or what?”_

_“Or you’ll be trapped here. Possibly forever.”_

_Dan considers this for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind that, I don’t think.”_

_“Dan. I don’t think you’re thinking this all the way through.”_

_“You don’t know what my life has been like. Out there. Believe it or not, this is the most peace I’ve felt in years.”_

_“You know that this creature is basically stealing your life force from you, don’t you? That eventually he will use you up until nothing is left?”_

_“The world would be safer without me in it.”_

_“No,” Castiel says, trying desperately to convince him. “That’s not true.”_

_Dan looks down, actively avoiding eye contact with Castiel._

_“In fact,” Castiel continues, “I think it’s your presence here at this hotel that’s causing the incubus to be so agitated.” He takes a chance and steps closer to the man. “We need to get you out of here, away from the hotel. Someplace safe.”_

_“There is no place that’s safe for me.” Dan shudders. “No place other than here. He cares for me here. He protects me.”_

_“Dan, that thing is using you, and when it’s finished with you, you’ll be dead.”_

_Finally, Dan lifts his head and meets Castiel’s intense, worried stare._

_“Fine by me,” he whispers._

Dean paced nervously while Sam searched his resources for any and all lore about an incubus. “They’ve both been under for too long,” Dean snapped. “We gotta get ‘em out.”

“Working on it,” Sam mumbled, his face washed in the glow from his laptop screen.

“I’m serious, Sam!”

“Dean. I know.” 

The look on Sam’s face made Dean finally stop pacing. He dropped tiredly into one of the chairs at the table. “How the hell do we kill one of these things, anyway?” he muttered.

“Not sure yet,” Sam replied. “The encounters we’ve been having, they’re different from other accounts I’m reading about. It’s like this particular incubus is...supercharged, somehow.”

“Maybe because of Dan’s...y’know?” Dean tapped his own temple.

Sam gave it some consideration. “Possibly. Likely, in fact.”

“So what do we do with an incubus that’s gone supernova?”

“From what I can tell, that basically just makes it more difficult to capture. If Cas can keep the thing busy in Dan’s head, we might just have enough time to figure out how to get rid of it.”

“Well, figure it out faster. This Dan guy’s not the only one in danger.” Dean popped up out of his chair once more and resumed his pacing.

Sam watched Dean for a moment, the worry evident on his brother’s face. He sighed, scrubbed his face with both hands, and returned to his work.

_“Are you telling me that you wish to die?” Castiel is incredulous. He’d been so certain that nobody had a death wish like a Winchester did._

_“Why not?” Dan shouts. “All I do is put the people around me in danger! I’ve done more harm than good, my entire damned life!”_

_“That can’t really be true.” Castiel tries to soothe the man, even though he understands his feelings all too well._

_“No, it is. Believe me,” Dan replies, his eyes clouding over._

_Castiel blinks as he realizes that Dan appears to be moving away from him somehow. He doesn’t appear to be walking under his own power--he seems to be floating away, like a balloon._

_“Dan, wait. Stop!” Castiel reaches out for the man’s arm, but he slips even further away. The darkness at the edges of Dan’s mind looms closer, and Dan himself seems to be dissolving into it._

_“DAN!”_

All at once there was a flash of blinding white light, and when Castiel opened his eyes again, he found himself back in Dan’s hotel room, Dean gripping his shoulder and shaking him, shouting his name. Sam was standing at Dan’s bedside, his hand on Dan’s shoulder as Dan lay motionless on the bed. Sam was chanting something that Castiel recognized as Latin even though he couldn’t piece it together immediately. There was an unnatural wind whipping through the room, and Sam had to shout to be heard over the din.

“Cas! Step back!” Dean was trying to pull him away from Dan.

“Dean! I couldn’t get him out! He’s--”

“I know! We found an exorcism! Sam’ll get him out!”

Dean and Castiel stood shoulder-to-shoulder as Sam completed the ritual. A table lamp launched itself across the room, missing Sam by inches. He didn’t even flinch, just kept reciting the text and holding onto Dan’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Dan’s eyes and mouth snapped open, and his back arched, lifting his torso off the bed. A foul red smoke poured out of Dan’s mouth, whipping in a circle around the room before bursting through the window and out into the night. As it departed, the air in the room stilled and the lights began to glow brightly as before. Sam, Dean, and Castiel exchanged looks, assuring each other that they were unharmed. Dan lay motionless on the bed, eyes and mouth still agape.

Sam reached out and tentatively put his hand back on Dan’s shoulder.

“Dan…?”

All at once, Dan took in a massive gasp of air and immediately began coughing. Dean released a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding, and lunged forward to help sit Dan up on the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re alright.”

Dan’s eyes continued to bulge as he panted and shivered. He looked from Sam to Dean and back again. “What the hell was that?”

Sam did his best to give a reassuring smile. “That was an incubus. We think it set up shop here at the hotel so that it could feed on the energy of the spirits who’ve been trapped here over the years. Then the hotel re-opened and live people started showing up, and that just meant more and more souls to visit.”

“Yeah, us showing up probably didn’t help much,” Dean muttered. Dan looked at him in surprise. “I mean, we’ve had our share of bad experiences,” he added. “You could even say we’ve...kinda been through hell.”

Sam shot him an incredulous look. Dean shrugged with a wan smile.

But Dan was unfazed. “So that’s what happened,” he whispered. “It makes sense now.” His eyes drifted away from Dean as he spoke.

“What makes sense now?” Dean asked.

“You,” Dan replied. “Both of you.” He glanced back at Sam before returning his attention to Dean. “It was all so strange being back here, I didn’t put it together at first. I thought it was all the hotel’s doing. But you two--you three,” he added, glancing over at Castiel, “you really have been through Hell.” He was looking at them now with some semblance of wonder. When he spoke again, it was with an air of reverence. “I could see it. In your minds. At first, I thought you were crazy. Or I was. But now, somehow...it all makes sense now.”

Dean stole a glance at Castiel, who was standing quietly nearby. Dan looked past Dean, and spoke to Castiel.

“And you,” he said softly. “You _are_ an angel. Aren’t you? I didn’t dream that?”

Castiel stepped forward and smiled at Dan. “Yes, I am.”

“Thank you for what you did for me. Back there. _In_ there. Whatever.”

Castiel simply nodded.

Dan inhaled sharply and drew out a long, ragged breath. “So,” he asked, looking around the room, “is it over? Can that...thing...come back?”

“Not for a while, at least,” Sam replied. “We just need to do some work around the hotel to make that permanent.”

“Could you do whatever that work is to my head, too?” Dan joked.

“Actually, yes,” Castiel replied quietly.

Dan turned to him in surprise, but before he had a chance to speak, Castiel had laid his fingers on Dan’s forehead once more. Dan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes a moment later, there was a fresh understanding there.

“Thank you.” Wonder filled his voice.

Castiel simply smiled, and said nothing.

Dean rubbed his hands together, the sound breaking the fragile silence. “All right,” he smiled, “let’s get this place cleaned up.”


	5. Epilogue

The morning sun shone brightly on the glittering snow as Sam and Dean walked out to the Impala. The hotel manager was clearly happy to see the “agents” leave, even if he was still a bit unclear as to what they meant when they told him the problem had been taken care of. Dan also looked quite relieved, almost as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The brothers didn’t need to question the source of his newfound peace. After all, Castiel had helped them in much the same way more than a few times before.

Dean handed one of his FBI cards to Dan as they loaded up. “Sure we can’t drop you anywhere?”

“No, it’s fine,” Dan replied. “I’ll probably catch the next bus out of town, but for now I think a nice, long walk would do me some good.”

“All right, well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find us.” Dean offered his hand, and Dan shook it.

“You’d make a good hunter, Dan.” Sam shook hands as well. “We could always use someone like you, someone who understands what we deal with day-to-day.”

“I’ll give it some thought. In a month or two, maybe,” Dan replied with a tired smile.

“Understood,” Sam smiled back.

“Thank you both, for everything,” Dan said. “And thank your friend for me, too. I haven’t felt this good in...well, in a very long time.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “He, uh, kind of has that effect on people.”

Dan looked at Dean for a long moment. “Yes. I can see that.”

Dean froze for a moment, as if daring Dan to say more. He didn’t, but instead turned with one last smile and headed off toward the highway.

Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go home.”

The Winchesters climbed into the jet black Impala, her engine roaring to life, and eased out of the hotel drive and on the way back to the bunker.


End file.
